


Very Best Friends

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Feral Marianne von Edmund, Friends to Lovers, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Marianne's Crest of the Beast is making it difficult for her to concentrate on a war council, and she leaves to try to find some relief. Hilda offers to help her out. You know, as a friend. Like friends do.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 10
Kudos: 141





	Very Best Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Here's my entry for Fire Emblem Three Houses Wank Week, for the Day 3 prompt: Mutual masturbation. I hope you enjoy.

Marianne fidgets in her seat at the long table that dominates the space in the Cardinal’s Room. 

Ordinarily, she’s the most studious of any of her former classmates during war councils, checking, and double checking, and triple checking every part of every plan, jotting down notes on every word Byleth or Claude speaks. She doesn’t trust her memory, attentive though she may be, and so every detail gets written down. It’s come in handy a few times, and she always feels proud whenever someone asks to borrow her records.

Today, though, her hands are folded primly in her lap, her quill lies motionless on the table, nib completely dry of ink, next to blank parchment. She focuses on anything and everything except for the aching, burning, pulsating need between her legs. 

Marianne stares up at the intricately painted frescoes upon the ceiling, and finds that despite their obvious beauty that would take a dozen poets just as many days to properly describe, they are not enough to divert her mind. Nor are the beautiful woven tapestries that hang proudly upon the walls, bearing the device of the Church. Indeed, to be having such urges in such a holy place is enough to make her cheeks flush with shame.

She even tries to count the stones in the walls and floor, but finds that every time she gets any higher than twenty or thirty, there’s another sensation that redirects her. Her clothes feel too tight, too restrictive, she can feel every thread, every fiber that rests upon her skin and tickles at the fine hairs on her arms. The chair is too rigid, the table is too hard under her elbows. Everything she would normally be feeling, she still does, but  _ more _ . Her face feels hot, she’s sweating, she knows that it’s likely her eyes are dilated too. And of course, the dampness of her smallclothes is a constant reminder of her contemptible perversion.

It’s a mistake to dare to look at any of her classmates, she knows it is, but she cannot help herself. Naturally, her eyes fall upon Hilda. Sweet, lovely Hilda, so strong in battle, but ever so kind and gentle with her. Oh, if she knew that Marianne was having such feelings, she’d never want aught to do with her again. 

And so it only fills Marianne with pure, utter anguish as she watches Hilda prop her chin up on one hand, one of her fingers teasing so close to her perfect, sculpted lips. Marianne remains transfixed as the tip of Hilda’s middle finger gently prods at the space between those lips, which part ever so slightly around the digit.

Marianne stares, imagining Hilda’s lips against her own, against her cheek, against her neck, her breast, her- No. No, she must not have such thoughts, Hilda is her  _ friend _ , not an object for her to covet, and she digs her nails hard enough into the back of her other hand that it makes her whimper in pain. It hurts, but it’s enough to force her sinful mind onto something else.

Unfortunately, that ‘something else’ is quickly replaced by musing on how delightful it would be to have Hilda’s nails digging into her back as she pins the warrior down on her bed and-

She cries out in frustration and bolts up from her chair, which flies back far harder than she intends and crashes against the wall with a dense, wooden ‘thud’. Her hands fly to her mouth, a belated attempt to stifle her cry, and every eye in the room is on her. Including, and especially, Hilda’s. Marianne stammers for a moment, her eyes watering, before weak words about ‘feeling unwell’ spill out of her mouth and she turns and flees the hall as though death itself is on her heels.

Marianne dashes straight to her bedroom, her old dormitory from their days at the academy together. It isn’t much, but she knows she’s safe there. She knows she shan’t be disturbed, after all, there’s a lock on the door. 

As she steps inside, she slams the door shut behind her and flicks the bolt to keep it closed against any potential intruders. Hopefully, her friends believe her excuse about feeling unwell and leave her alone. The tears that have been welling finally spill over and down her cheeks. Not only has she had such indelicate, improper, shameful thoughts in a holy place, not only has she fantasized filthily about her dear, precious friend Hilda, but to top it all off, she’s now  _ lied _ to all of them.

The horror of her actions isn’t enough to stop her from doing what she’s come here to do, though, and she wrenches her gown off as though it is on fire, finally feeling some degree of relief as the cool air of her room washes over her body. It’s like throwing a mug of water on an inferno, though, and she knows there’s only one way for her to truly feel relief.

Marianne had been foolish, thinking that she could make it through the council today. She had told herself that she would leave her room for the first time that day, go and sit for a couple of hours, and then return to continue to sink further down into the depravity that washes over her every month or so. She had been so stupid to think she could deny her nature for even that long.

And so she’s already standing in her smallclothes alone, about to dive onto her bed, when there’s such a strong pounding upon the door that she’s afraid it’s going to explode inward on her. Marianne shrieks in surprise and yanks her blanket off her bed, wrapping it around herself like a robe.

“Marianne?” Hilda calls from the other side of the door, jiggling the doorknob hard. She sounds so worried, and Marianne’s stomach drops into her toes. “Marianne, are you okay? What’s going on?”

Marianne is too afraid to reply, afraid her voice will give her away. The comfort and solace of her room is at risk of being completely shattered and she hopes that if she remains silent, Hilda will give up and leave. Unfortunately, she isn’t so lucky.

“Marianne! Hey! I know you’re in there, and if you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down, I swear I will!” Hilda declares, jiggling the knob again, and Marianne does not doubt for the barest second that she’ll do exactly that. Swallowing hard, she summons up all her willpower and courage.

“C-coming!” sounds her tremulous reply. “Please don’t!”

She darts to the door and flicks the lock away, stepping behind it as she pulls it open and allows Hilda inside. Marianne realizes, moments too late, that her gown is still on the floor. She hasn’t been gone for more than a minute and as soon as she closes this door and steps forward in a blanket, Hilda’s going to know she’s naked beneath it.

Oh Goddess, Hilda’s going to know  _ immediately _ what Marianne skipped war council to go do, isn’t she?

Hilda pushes the door shut behind her and nearly trips over Marianne’s discarded clothing, but she manages to catch herself on the desk by the wall. She spins around to look at Marianne, her eyes wide with concern, and then confusion. “Marianne? Why...are you wrapped in a blanket? And why…” She looks down at the ground and sees the clothing there, then back up at Marianne, utterly, shockingly speechless.

Marianne begins to cry again, hugging herself tight, knowing there’s no way out of this. She refuses to meet Hilda’s eyes, but as soon as the tears begin to flow, Hilda takes a step closer. “Hey, whoa, Mari, what’s the matter? Please, talk to me, you’re kind of freaking me out right now.” Her voice is gentle and kind and so much more than Marianne deserves.

“I...you...oh Hilda, I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me,” she bawls, “I don’t think I could bear it if you hated me.”

Her friend only looks more baffled. “Marianne, why would I hate you? What happened?” Between sobs, Marianne tries to explain.

“Do you remember, a few months ago,” she begins, taking a breath, “when I told you about my Crest? The Crest of the Beast?” Marianne asks. “Do you remember how I told you that sometimes it...it makes me lose control of certain feelings?”

“Yeah, I do, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything,” Hilda says, leaning against Marianne’s desk. She seems to have relaxed at least a little, now that Marianne is explaining, so she continues.

“Well, you know how some...beasts...or animals, sometimes...oh Goddess, how can I explain this?” She takes another deep, shuddering breath and fixes her eyes squarely on the ground. “Some animals, every once in a while, go into heat, right?”

As she speaks, she dares to flick her gaze up at Hilda’s face. She’s still confused, then looks as though she grasps something, then total comprehension dawns on her and she gapes at Marianne. “Are you seriously, hand-to-the-Goddess, telling me that your Crest makes you  _ go into heat? _ ” Hilda asks, incredulous. “Like, that thing where animals mate all the time and...oh.”

She looks down at the discarded dress, at Marianne standing wrapped in a blanket, at her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. Hilda sees, for seemingly the first time, the ravenous, consuming  _ hunger _ in Marianne. “That’s...Oh, shit, Marianne, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Marianne interrupts, panic overriding her usual sense of fear surrounding such things, holding up a hand in a pacifying gesture. “You are my friend and you deserve to know, and I can take care of it myself, but you can certainly go back to the war council. Please, just, don’t tell anyone?”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them, and Hilda’s eyes dart up and away, she’s seemingly very interested in the ceiling of Marianne’s room as she speaks again, picking her words carefully. “I mean, you’re like...my  _ best _ friend, Marianne. And I care about you a lot, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

That heat is beginning to overwhelm Marianne again, and she feels it in her face and chest and arms and most especially, distractingly, between her legs. Marianne lets out a little whine and shifts from foot to foot anxiously. “Hilda, I promise you, I’ll be okay, you can go, just let me...handle... _ things _ , on my own.”

“Well, you know, sometimes when people are such  _ good  _ friends like you and I are- and you would say we’re  _ very  _ good friends, wouldn’t you Mari?” she asks, and Marianne swallows hard, not sure where the discussion is going, but knowing for certain that it needs to end quickly. She nods.

“I would say so Hilda, yes, I would like to think we are.”

“I mean, I’ve heard sometimes  _ very good  _ friends do that kind of thing  _ together _ .” Hilda says, smiling brightly and meeting Marianne’s eye once more. “And, well, anything I can do, you know? Just to make sure you don’t have to go through this alone!”

Marianne chews on her lip for a moment. “That’s...really something friends do?” she asks, hopeful, terrified, and excited all at once. “They t-touch...you know...with…?” She stammers the words out, hoping Hilda will understand what she means.

Hilda nods, once, confident.

“I suppose I just never had any friends to whom I was so close.”

“Well, lucky for you, here I am!” Hilda says, stepping forward and taking Marianne’s hand, leading her back near the bed. “So are you  _ sure _ you want me to leave? Because I will if that’s really, really what you want.”

Marianne thinks about it. She thinks about dealing with her problem by herself. She thinks about touching herself, in front of Hilda, and the thought is almost mortifying, but...

She thinks about Hilda touching herself in front of  _ her.  _

“I...think I want you to stay,” Marianne breathes.

Hilda’s positively glowing at her response, and it’s enough to make Marianne feel sheepish. “But, uhm, I have a request,” she says, still holding her blankets close, despite how blisteringly hot her skin feels.

“Yeah, whatever you need, go ahead. I’m down for pretty much anything!” Hilda exclaims, then she looks away again, as though she’s realized she said something foolish. “Anything to, uh, help, I mean.” She twirls a lock of candy-pink hair around one finger. Marianne’s seen her do that before, when she’s nervous.

“I...don’t want us to be facing each other. Is that okay? I’m still a little bit...”

Her friend cuts in, not waiting for her to mumble her way through an explanation. “Of course! Totally fine! Whatever makes you comfortable.” Hilda hums to herself for a moment. “What if we sit on your bed, back-to-back? You’ll be able to feel me, so you’ll know I’m not turning around to sneak a peek.”

Marianne considers it for a moment. Being able to feel Hilda’s body as she touches herself sounds almost like too much to bear, and if not for that deep, powerful hunger coursing through her, she wouldn’t be brave enough to do it. But as she is now, she nods. “Yes, that sounds v-very good. I’ll turn around so, erm, you can...you know.”

“So I can take off my...right, yeah, okay!” Hilda says, too quickly. Marianne’s a little bit worried her friend might be about to panic, but she trusts Hilda to take care of herself. So she steps over toward the bed, and turns to face the door of her room so that Hilda has a moment of privacy.

Marianne counts to three, then lets the blanket fall from around her shoulders to the floor, and shimmies out of her smallclothes, kicking them aside. It’s exhilarating, even though she knows Hilda can’t see her, to be naked in the same room as her best friend. She can’t help but wonder; would she be just as thrilled if it were anyone else? Would she feel the same excitement cutting into her anxiety and embarrassment?

She sits down on the bed, taking up about half of the space available and continuing to face the door. As she does, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and listens.

Marianne hears buckles and snaps coming undone, she hears the hushed, subtle rush of cloth sliding along skin, and then that same cloth hitting the floor, cast aside without care or an ounce of delicacy. Her friend is moving so quickly, and she swears she hears Hilda breathing almost as hard as she is. Is Hilda excited? Nervous? Perhaps even both? But no, Marianne reminds herself, Hilda’s doing this as a favor to her. She’s probably even done this before, and why does that thought make her feel a little jolt of pain in the bottom of her heart? 

She has never had to fight anything quite so hard as she fights the urge to turn around and look at Hilda behind her, though she knows she can’t.  _ She _ wanted this. _ She’s _ the one who requested that they not face each other, and she can’t break her own rule. No matter how much she wants to.

She does, however, slide one hand, trembling with both nervousness and need in equal proportions, up her own leg and to the juncture of her thighs. Moments ago, she was wishing she could watch Hilda, but as she feels just how wet she is, she’s suddenly glad Hilda can’t see her. Before she can begin to touch herself in earnest, though, she feels an impact on the bed behind her and squeaks in shock. Her hands fly apart and plant firmly on either side of her, as though she’s just been caught doing something shameful.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Hilda says, scooting toward Marianne until their backs are touching, and Marianne can feel her warmth, and she can feel Hilda’s hair pinned between them, and that’s almost enough to make her whimper on its own. Hilda, her very best friend, is sitting right behind her, and she’s  _ naked _ , and she’s about to...oh Goddess, it’s just too much.

“Are you alright, Marianne? Are you sure you want to do this? Because you can say no at any time.” She hears from behind her, and Hilda sounds concerned. Marianne takes a breath, closes her eyes, and chases her nerves away by considering how wonderful it will be to feel a little less alone while she suffers through this.

So she sighs, and nods, and realizes that Hilda can’t actually  _ see _ her, so she makes herself speak. “Yes, I’m sure, Hilda. But thank you.”

No sooner does Marianne speak than does Hilda let out a soft, shimmery little sigh, and squirm behind her. “Good, because I think it’s going to be  _ really _ fun.” Marianne listens closely and she hears a soft, slick noise that’s very familiar to her this time of the month. Hilda’s already started, and Marianne isn’t far behind her.

Despite the fact that she beholds nothing beyond the normal, standard walls of her room, the things she hears behind her, the soft, lilting gasps and sighs and little whimpers that escape Hilda as she works are enough to stoke the fire within Marianne to a veritable blaze. So she closes her eyes, because the things she can see aren’t nearly as important as the things she can hear and feel. 

And  _ oh,  _ the things she can feel. She’s got goosebumps as the free strands of Hilda’s hair tickle her shoulders and the back of her neck. Every now and then, Hilda’s arm bumps into hers, or her hips wiggle  _ just so _ in a way that Marianne can feel, and she’s certain it’s going to drive her mad.

Her hand slides between her legs once more, as soon as she feels just a tiny bit less self conscious, and she’s bright red as soon as she does, because she knows Hilda can hear her just as surely as the reverse. But she continues, she doesn’t know if she _could_ stop at this point, and she plunges two fingers inside herself. Marianne doesn’t know if she’s ever been more turned on in her life, between the sensory delights behind her and the heat overtaking her, and they slide in easily.

Her other hand slides up, trailing nails and fingertips across her torso, and she finds that she really wishes it were  _ Hilda’s _ hand, and her nails, and her fingertips, but she’ll have to make do. Marianne palms one of her breasts and squeezes gently, pulling a gentle sigh from somewhere deep inside her. She’s trying not to make noise, trying not to drown out the sounds Hilda makes behind her, but there’s only so much she can do. 

As she finds a steady rhythm between her legs, and manages to tease her clit with her palm as she does, she focuses on her chest with the hand she’s placed there. Marianne squeezes a little harder this time, pinches a nipple and rolls it between thumb and forefinger, and she makes the mistake that she’s been afraid of making.

The little whispery whine that issues forth from her lips isn’t wordless, not this time, it’s an exclamation and a name, and she cries “oh  _ Hilda _ ,” and she realizes too late that she’s said it out loud. Before she can properly pray that her friend hasn't heard her, there’s a jostling behind her.

Hilda, seemingly still keeping her own pace, lays her head back so that it rests upon Marianne’s shoulder. They cannot meet each other’s eye, but it doesn’t matter, for the effect is the same. “Mari- _ anne _ ,” she purrs, letting the latter half of the name drop off her tongue and float down to the floor. “Are you thinking impure thoughts about a certain special someone, back there?”

As Hilda presses, Marianne shudders, and she’s feeling that heat building and building within her, compounding upon itself and threatening to make her lose control entirely. She manages to speak anyways, though, if only barely. “I...no, certainly not, I would never- _ ah!” _

Marianne manages to interrupt herself quite effectively as a bump from Hilda’s arm adjusts the position of her own hand unexpectedly and she presses down just a bit harder than intended, crying out in shock. “What a shame,” Hilda says, “because I’m definitely having some impure thoughts about someone, myself.”

She freezes for just a moment, the shock of the admission actually being enough to slice right through the near-drunken haze of arousal clouding Marianne’s thoughts. Has Hilda just said what she thinks she has? Has Hilda just admitted to thinking about her...lustfully? Marianne might be ignorant in matters of the heart, but she knows her friend, and she knows Hilda wouldn’t lie to her.

Her mind tries to settle onto any other potential explanation, then, and is left wanting. It’s not a lie, and she cannot discern what else Hilda might mean. Hilda’s flirting with her. Hilda is  _ flirting  _ with  _ her _ , and now she feels a little silly that it took her being naked and pleasuring herself in the same room as Hilda for her to be able to pick up on it. She’s mostly just glad Hilda can’t see her blushing.

Marianne realizes, then, that Hilda might not just be doing this as a favor. She might be enjoying it just as much, and the idea is one of the most arousing things she’s ever considered. Her hand begins to move again as she thinks about it. Hilda, turned on by Marianne touching herself. She wants- no, she  _ needs  _ to hear more.

“O-oh?” Marianne asks, trying to let just a tiny bit of Hilda’s usual wryness slide into her tone. “What kinds of things are you thinking, then?”

Hilda giggles, then snorts, then yelps, and Marianne feels Hilda begin to tremble and shake just a little bit more. “Oh, Marianne,” she begins, and her breath catches, and her voice begins to pitch just a bit higher, “you’re trying to get me to talk dirty, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Pulling her legs up and keeping them spread, Marianne puts her feet flat on the bed and finds that the change in angle lets her hit all sorts of interesting places. She doesn’t speak again, though, letting Hilda continue. Marianne is too focused on the fervent, impassioned thrusting of her fingers, and she slips her hand down from her chest to devote more attention to the frustratingly sensitive spot above. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Hilda begins, her words interspersed and cut with whines and whimpers of her own. She’s making no effort to be quiet and Marianne reminds herself to thank the Goddess for that later. “There’s this girl, right? And she’s probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And I’m thinking about her.”

Marianne knows that if she opens her mouth, she’s going to lose control of her voice, so instead, she bites her lip and whines a bit, trying to keep from bucking her hips up into her hand. Hilda continues, her tone alternately rising and trailing into exclamations.

“I’m thinking about how she’s usually all nice and sweet. And I love that about her, I really do. But sometimes, Marianne, she gets this  _ look  _ in her eye. It’s not super often, but when I see it, it takes my breath away, oh  _ Goddess _ !” Hilda cries out, and the noise sends a shot of heat straight between her legs.

“T-tell me more,” Marianne groans, leaning back on Hilda’s shoulder, putting them cheek-to-cheek, flush against flush, the warmth extremely pleasant.

“Oh,  _ Marianne _ , I don’t know if there’s much more to say. I’m thinking about that girl, I’m thinking about- ah! About how when she has that look, that hungry, ferocious, animal look, I want her to grab me and-”

Hilda doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Marianne makes a choice faster than she’s ever done so before and hopes she won’t regret it. She stops, whips around to face Hilda, and grabs her friend by the arms. Hilda cries out in surprise, but she doesn’t resist. Instead, she lets Marianne spin her around and toss her down to the bed.

“Like this?” Marianne asks, breathing hard. She feels like a different person, almost, but Hilda’s words had simply goaded her too much. It’s how she feels on the battlefield, that rush of adrenaline, that howling inside her heart, that urgent need to see her opponent defeated. She sees Hilda on the bed beneath her, helpless, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly agape. Marianne feels guilty about her aggression for just a moment, until Hilda breaks out in a massive grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, that’s the look right there,” she breathes. Marianne is straddling Hilda’s legs, sitting on her knees, and slowly, without speaking, her hand finds her way back to where it had been between her own. She doesn’t break eye contact with Hilda, but she slides one, then two fingers inside herself, gasping softly. “Goddess, Mari,” Hilda says. “This is, for sure, the hottest thing I have ever seen.”

“Keep. Going,” Marianne says, just two, clipped, short words, but they carry the weight of a dozen cannons behind them, and it doesn’t seem to even  _ occur _ to Hilda to disobey. Her hand slips down between her legs as well, and she does as she’s told, whimpering at her own sensitivity. It’s good, it’s exactly what Marianne wants. “I want to watch you come, Hilda,” she says, her voice coming out in a breathy, husky whisper. “Please, I want to see it.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Hilda groans, closing her eyes and laying her head back on Marianne’s pillow as she continues. “Marianne, I’ve never seen this side of you before, but I’m  _ really  _ into it.” She reaches up and crosses her free arm over herself, squeezing her chest much like Marianne had done to her own, before. It crosses her mind exactly how  _ well-endowed _ Hilda is, and Marianne briefly considers how much she’d like to run her hands all over the woman for hours on end. In fact, why not start now? 

Marianne’s free hand slides up and onto Hilda’s body. The other woman’s eyes are closed, so she doesn’t notice until she  _ feels _ it, until Marianne’s fingers are tracing up her stomach, then up, further up. Hilda has her arm over her chest, still, so Marianne lifts her hand up and places it firmly on Hilda’s collarbone, causing Hilda’s eyes to snap open, making her gasp. “I w-want you to look at me too, Hilda. Please.”

She feels herself getting close, and she locks eyes with Hilda. Marianne swears their breaths and heartbeats are synched, and the rest of the universe falls away. The bed, the walls of the room, the door, the world outside, it’s all gone, everything except for Hilda’s face becomes suddenly, aggressively unimportant. She watches her friend’s eyes go wide as she tracks the  _ exact  _ moment that Hilda comes for her.

It’s quieter than Marianne had expected, but no less beautiful. Color floods Hilda’s face, and for all the noise the woman usually makes, for all the incessant, if charming, chatter, her climax is a near silent thing. It’s a gentle little whimper, a cry, perhaps a prayer, and tears form in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Words do not come forth, but she can see Hilda’s lips, her beautiful, kissable lips forming the shape of Marianne’s name, and that’s enough to bring her over the edge, too.

Marianne twitches, shivers, and the waves of bliss crash over her, overwhelmingly, unbelievably intense. It’s stronger than usual, even stronger than her usual heats, a fact she can only attribute to Hilda being present. Where Hilda’s quiet as she comes, Marianne nearly  _ shrieks _ , leaning hard on the hand she’s placed on Hilda’s collarbone, being careful not to apply enough pressure to hurt her, but needing the support. Her orgasm is a broken sob, a groan, and Marianne pitches forward just a bit, her hips grinding forward into her own hand involuntarily. She doesn’t close her eyes, though; she told Hilda to keep their gazes locked, and she’ll give as good as she gets.

It takes a moment for the two of them to recover, and Hilda does first. She reaches a hand up to cup Marianne’s cheek, stroking lightly with her thumb. “Whoa,” she says, a half-laugh coming out with the word. “Marianne, that was...wow.”

She smiles down at Hilda, innocently as she can manage. The climax helped, certainly, but she still feels that hunger sitting firm in the pit of her stomach. She wants more. “It  _ was _ ?” Marianne asks. “Past tense?”

Hilda blinks up at her, and her thumb stops moving. “Well, yeah. I mean, we both came, right, so…?”

The hair on the back of Marianne’s neck is standing up, her skin is electric, and she realizes, moments too late to stop it, that she’s  _ growling _ . Hilda’s expression blows through ‘confused’, ‘shocked’, and ‘nervous’, straight to ‘excited’ in a matter of seconds.

“I’m not done with you yet, Hilda,” Marianne says in a gravelly purr, so low and so quiet that only her whole world can hear her.

* * *

  
  


Hilda knows it was still light outside when she followed Marianne to her room, and it’s definitely not anymore. It hasn’t been for a bit.

She’s laying on her back on Mari’s bed, arms splayed, staring at the ceiling. She’s covered in bruises, hickeys, and bite marks, and she can’t move her legs. All things considered, a pretty successful day.

Her gaze slides down to Marianne, who is curled up against Hilda’s side and deep in slumber. Hilda smiles lazily and examines Marianne’s slender, pretty hand on her chest, trying to decide whether silver or gold would look better on her finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on twitter @spiderlilywrite if you want to crack the metaphorical whip and make me write more.


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